


The Shark and the Ocean

by robotboy



Category: Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-04 18:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20475572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: Five things Rusty tasted like (and one thing he didn't).





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t their first job. Their first job, Danny was sixteen and Rusty fifteen, the mark was the vice principal, and the take was Danny’s permanent record.

The first _real_ job for _real _money, they took four grand in a night playing poker among the cocksure young suits in New York City. Nineteen and just as cocksure, but with every reason to be.

They counted the winnings in a park in Hoboken, at three in the morning as the city glittered on the Hudson. They’d swiped whiskey from behind a bar and poured it into one another’s mouths from the spout, laughing. Rusty’s shirt was undone four buttons, the sleeves rolled up, a spill of whiskey sticking a translucent line to his shoulder.

‘Man, when you had the fives—’

‘I thought you’d deal me hearts!’

‘With a pair of fives?’

‘Well he—’

‘He wasn’t gonna.’

‘He might’ve.’

‘If you’d had hearts.’

‘Kick me next time.’

Rusty snorted, shaking the whiskey bottle to catch the last drops on his tongue. Danny sat back on his elbows beside Rusty, as drunk on winning as he was from drinking. They sprawled on the grass like kings, as if all of New York belonged to them, and every twinkling light was theirs to pluck from the sky.

‘You know…’ he started.

‘Yeah,’ Rusty replied.

Danny was almost completely sure he’d meant to say they could do this together forever, but there was something else he meant to say. And tonight was lucky, so Danny leaned over.

A laugh softer than a breath, that wicked curl of Rusty’s lip and the innocent dimple beside it. Danny’s mouth twitched and Rusty didn’t look the slightest bit surprised when Danny kissed him for the first time.

Rusty tasted of whiskey that Danny would later think of as cheap, but not until they got older and luckier.


	2. Chapter 2

‘Remember what we said.’

‘Nothing to lose. I know.’

The con had been working. They traveled as a pair of trust fund brats on spring break. Rusty wore board shorts that made Danny’s eyes water. He seldom wore much more, which made Danny’s mouth water. They kicked around the beach and appeared to take no notice of boats that weren’t full of women in bikinis. Rusty ate his weight in chocolate but somehow stayed in magnificent shape. Danny got a tan so deep he hardly recognised himself.

The con had been working. They’d secured the painting Reuben wanted and swapped in the substitute before the men on boats took delivery. Reuben had sweetened the deal with the promise of diamonds: whatever Danny and Rusty could make off with, they could keep as their take. The con had worked until the discovery that these men were a lot better at recognising diamonds going missing than paintings. Danny got shot—slightly—in the leg and Rusty got punched—more than slightly—in the jaw.

They were left nursing their wounds in a hotel room while their take sailed over the horizon.

‘We got the painting,’ Danny said, commiserating.

‘Hey, we got the painting,’ Rusty agreed. He flicked channels on the TV, like it was going to be anything other than two telenovelas and a documentary on sharks.

‘Ugh,’ Rusty sighed, articulating the humidity, the boredom, and the sinking reminder of failure that plagued them both. Danny’s head lolled on the pillow, his gaze settling where Rusty sprawled on the adjacent bed. The blue light of the television washed out Rusty’s skin, but it sharpened his eyes. Rusty scratched his stomach idly, swallowing, then lifted his hips from the bed to slide the shorts down around his thighs. He palmed himself unselfconsciously. Sure, it wasn’t the first time they’d shared a room, and not the hundredth time Danny had heard Rusty jerk off. But Rusty had to know Danny was watching and that—that made for something different. That knotted itself thickly in Danny’s throat and made his cock twitch.

Danny swallowed. ’You’re gonna—’

‘Yeah.’

‘I mean, it’s not like—’

‘Right.’

‘Would you rather I—’

‘You gonna come give me a hand?’

Like they’d done this a dozen times before. So Danny slipped from his bed to Rusty’s. He stretched out along Rusty’s side, and touched the line of Rusty’s hip. Rusty angled himself toward Danny without looking up. Danny slid his fingers around Rusty’s hand first, imagining it wouldn’t be that different from jerking off himself. But that was a lie: Rusty guided him to stroke, twisting slightly at the head and slicking warmth back down the length. Danny’s heart kicked in his chest and his jeans were too tight. This close he could hear the click of Rusty’s lips falling open, feel a whisper of eyelashes on his cheek. He could feel Rusty hot and hard in his hand, hips bucking for more, always a little more.

Because of course he knew how Rusty liked it, he’d listened enough times—and watched when he could get away with it.

‘What’s the next job?’ Rusty asked, like it was dirty talk. It probably was, for them.

Possibilities rolled in front of Danny. He picked one that washed up with the tide.

‘North Carolina, The World 600,’ he said. ‘Quarter million cash in a safe under the speedway.’

‘You want it clean, or dirty?’ Rusty asked, his breath hardly stuttering as Danny stroked him.

‘What would it take to pull it off clean?’

Rusty closed his eyes. Danny thought he was too distracted, but then Rusty spoke:

‘Pair of Dana Wynters. A Louis Ciavelli. A Sinatra, maybe a Bacall to keep them off the scent. Not much front, so fifty each.’

Danny laughed, then realised Rusty had opened his fly. His laugh became a gasp, and Rusty eased him out of his underwear, trailing his fingertips along Danny’s cock. Fingertips that Rusty was constantly licking, that could deal you hearts when you had a hand of fives, that had meticulously cleaned and bandaged Danny’s first bullet wound last night. Danny shuddered and Rusty worked him over like a con.

Their wrists butted as they tried to find a rhythm, until Rusty huffed with frustration. He swatted Danny’s hand away and slunk his hips forward. Then Rusty’s cock was pressed flush to his and Rusty gripped both of them, and the thrill it gave Danny was better than diamonds. They moved like they always did together, fluid then friction, sparking off one another, like fingers in a pocket and a safe tumbler clicking and a plan coming together. Danny could feel every throb and slide of Rusty’s cock beside his, every twist and squeeze of Rusty’s fingers where skin slid along skin. Because Rusty lived under his skin and talked in his thoughts and swam in his blood it was no surprise when they both came, breathing the same air, the same heartbeat begging to be in one ribcage.

He couldn’t have said how long they lay there afterwards, because it was too humid for their come to dry and the shark documentary was still playing.

_The hammerhead will eat almost anything in the ocean_, the television informed them. Rusty grinned the split-second Danny did.

‘Remind you of anyone?’ Danny bumped his head against Rusty’s. Rusty raised an eyebrow. His teeth looked sharper when he grinned.

And that was Rusty. Always moving. Always hungry. The shark that made the ocean deadly.

‘When we get out of Belize…’ Danny murmured.

‘We’re going to Denny’s.’

Danny kissed him, and Rusty growled as it jostled his busted jaw, kissing back harder.

Rusty tasted like blood. A bit like chocolate, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what Rusty means with his Golden Age Hollywood Codes For Criminal Specialisations but The World 600 heist is from Logan Lucky (AKA Ocean's Seven-Eleven).


	3. Chapter 3

Danny told himself it would be the last time. Danny was a liar.

The party was strange. Most of the guys were professionals, guys from work, and the rest were Tess’ friends, because Tess’ friends were his friends now too. It felt like a job, with half the group as his crew, the other half marks. Rusty took them all to a whiskey bar and the party formed two circles naturally, Danny bouncing between them all night. There were no strippers, because Rusty was tacky but not that kind of tacky. There were carefully-worded toasts by guys from work and badly-worded ones by Tess’ friends. They called for Rusty to give one, but Rusty only shrugged and said; ‘Tomorrow.’

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow crawled closer as the party moved moved to the hotel. Rusty had sweet-talked them into the penthouse suite overlooking Manhattan. The whiskey was slightly worse, the company slightly better. It was well after midnight, but it wasn’t really tomorrow until sunrise. The guys drifted home one by one, until only Rusty remained.

Rusty held his glass close to his mouth, thumb tracing his smile as he watched Danny closed the door on the last guest. Rusty didn't say anything, and for once—it couldn’t be the first time, surely—Danny wasn’t quite sure what it meant.

Danny turned it over in his head as he shrugged off his jacket: he never saw a puzzle he didn’t like. He opened his mouth to ask Rusty something. Rusty was there, in front of him, helping with the shirt buttons. Danny hadn't noticed he was fumbling. Rusty’s eyes were blue, maybe a bit glassy, trained on Danny’s shirt as he took it off. His mouth was still open with that half-a-smile, lip jutting out. Danny could just lean in.

Rusty unbuckled Danny’s belt and dropped to his knees.

Or, they could do that, Danny chuckled. He ran his fingers through Rusty’s hair and Rusty butted back against his hand, like Danny was gonna mess it up any worse. Rusty got him unzipped and breathed against Danny’s briefs, and Danny was already hard.

He hadn’t _stopped_ fucking Rusty when Tess happened to him, and there didn’t seem to be a right time to _not_ be doing what he and Rusty did, irregular and illicit as it had always been.

Rusty ate cock like he ate everything else: messily, enthusiastically, and with a lot more licking than strictly necessary.

If Danny were really going to stop, he wouldn't have kissed Rusty afterwards.

Rusty tasted like Danny’s come. A little bitter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the first story I wrote with a working title 'The Fuck You Buck Night' and it won't be the last.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a good plan. It was a pretty good plan.

It had been a good plan.

Part of the plan involved sitting for an hour during guard patrols, cramped between cases with nothing to do but read the information panels and breathe one another’s air.

Danny’s eyes had glazed over from staring at the panel in front of him. He wondered if he’d ever close his eyes again without seeing _These masks are unusual for traditional matrimonial wear which distinguishes bride from groom. This supports the theory that Incan marriages were highly collaborative partnerships that required a lifelong bond._

Tess probably wrote the caption. She’d kill him if she ever found out about this. And he was a bastard, because there was a bit of a kick in pulling it off right under her nose. The only person he would ever admit that to was Rusty, but Danny could tell from the way Rusty had looked sideways at him when Danny had said _there might be a job at the museum_, Rusty already knew.

Pressed against each other, Danny realised he’d forgotten the smell of Rusty.Or, he had forgotten what it was like to smell Rusty; details he couldn’t have recalled, and the way it settled him in his own restless skin. Danny could stay until dawn, for that. His eyebrows had a conversation with Rusty’s dimples, to pass the time. They disagreed, and Danny apologised, and Rusty forgave him.

At least he could steal this: this thing he never planned at all. A kiss.

Rusty tasted faintly of the cookies he’d brought as a snack. Danny remembered that, the whole time inside.


	5. Chapter 5

Danny knew. He knew the moment he left North Jersey State prison, and he knew when Rusty startled at him sitting in a circle of gullible celebrities, and he knew when Rusty looked at his three fingers for _three casinos_ and almost choked. By the time Rusty was going over the details, it was just details—and details were just foreplay for them. And if details were foreplay, then Rusty rubbing finger and thumb over his lower lip, was—

—it was—

—it was a miracle Danny didn’t fumble his speech, and a miracle Rusty waited until the elevator doors had shut before shoving Danny against the wall and kissing him. Danny held his face in both hands and groaned, and Rusty’s tongue was in his mouth, teeth clacking against Danny’s. He tugged Rusty’s ridiculous shirt and palmed Rusty’s ridiculous ass. Rusty grinned against his mouth and cupped Danny’s cock, and Danny was half-hard already and didn’t care because he’d waited long enough. Danny fumbled blindly for the emergency stop and the elevator jerked, thrusting him into Rusty’s thigh. He groaned and repeated the motion, deliberately this time, and Rusty mimicked it. They weren’t teenagers anymore, weren’t going to get off in their pants in an elevator, but just the feeling of his head spinning and Rusty crowding him, falling back into their rhythm: that was everything Danny needed. For now, at least. Then, three casinos.

Rusty tasted of nachos and all the other good things Danny hadn’t had in four years.


	6. Chapter 6

Tess’ kiss hello was also a kiss goodbye. It was better that way, even if it felt like shit. Better for her to slip out of the car and lose the tail of Benedict’s goons. Better to avoid the fight where she would ask: _was I anything more than a take to you?_

Because Danny wasn’t sure he could answer. Three to six months wasn’t long enough to practice the kind of speech that won a lover back.

Rusty put the roof back on the convertible as it started to rain. Danny hung out the window like a dog on a road trip, letting water hit his face and feeling the shitty engine rumble underneath him. After weeks inside, stuck in one place, not moving, the air and the rain and the road felt like everything. They dumped the convertible at a truck stop in Mexico, and Rusty chose a jalopy Danny doubted would make it to Costa Rica. But they kept moving south, trading shifts at the wheel without question: Danny felt it like an itch when Rusty was getting too restless to drive, and Rusty would angle for the driver’s side door when Danny was still exhausted after a stop.

Rusty got the keys for the shack from a dead drop. It was a hovel, not even close enough to the beach to be charming. There was an inch of dust on the furniture, and the roof in the corner of one room had collapsed in a storm. It was fine.

Rusty tossed a bottle of lube on the bedspread and tossed Danny down next to it. He was naked before he got to the mattress, and he stripped off Danny’s pants and underwear. The shirt he just unbuttoned, too impatient. Danny grinned at him, holding Rusty’s hips as Rusty swung a leg over to straddle him. There were new tattoos, and Rusty smirked as Danny touched them. Danny was getting hard just from watching, from the sight of Rusty naked after so long. And Rusty, it turned out, had taken some opportunity to get himself ready—they’d have words, later, about giving Danny a chance to watch. So no time wasted, no words spoken, just a plan coming together perfectly like Rusty sinking down on his cock, his smile changing from smug to a simpler, stupider kind of happy. Danny grinding his hips in the way he knew Rusty liked, staring at Rusty in the way he knew Rusty liked, reaching up to steer him by the hips and bring them crashing together. Rusty never made much noise when he fucked, but if Danny dragged him down, until their foreheads were together and Rusty’s thighs were squeezing Danny’s sides, then he could feel the heat of Rusty’s breath against his cheek. He could chase the wicked curl of his lip and the innocent dimple beside it. Rusty’s hair would be a mess where Danny grabbed it, and they’d both stink of sweat in the relentless equatorial heat, and Rusty would drag them out for mediocre casado when he got hungry. Some time after that, they will need to split to lie low, until Danny will think up a job, and Rusty will think up the details. But for now, Danny kissed him.

Rusty tasted like nothing else.


End file.
